Oh, the majority of you break my heart when 44% say that Santa photos are NEVER cute. NEVER?! Have you ever seen the ones with my kids? Adorable, I tell you! 29% think that kids should be done with Santa by middle school, and 23% of you are suckers for a pic at any age. I think by middle school kids should really have nothing to do with Santa pictures. Anything after that is a little bit creepy.

But today I want to talk gifts. Well, actually about how you wrap them.

I’m only telling you this because we are such good friends. And also because if you think Child Services should be called, you don’t know where I live.

I was on the phone with my mother when I noticed the Munchkinette sidling up to the front of the Christmas tree. Now this puts her between the tree and the middle front window, so between being on the phone and a dicey sightline, I don’t see what happens next. Until, of course, it’s too late.

And what happens next is that I see her proudly holding a glass Christmas ornament in her little hand.

I give out yell because I’m thinking she’s going to drop it. I begin running toward her. Er, well, probably lurching is a better term for it.

She does me one better.

In one of those slo-mo effects in the movies, I watch as she crushes the ornament in her hand.

At this point, I let out a full blown scream because I’m envisioning myself in the ER with her thrashing around as they stitch up the million cuts in her hand. Also, I’m a little pissed because it’s one of the intricate ones handed down to me from the 1950’s and I’m wondering why she couldn’t have chosen a regular old ball.

So I’m continuing the lurch and watching what seems like hundreds of little glass pieces scatter around her, which I finally crunch through and grab her.

I frantically seize her tiny hand, fully expecting shards to be stuck in it and blood dripping down her arm.

Nothing. Not a scratch.

No aftermath of any kind except for me losing a very cool ornament and having to thoroughly vacuum.

The other day some friends of ours had a “private” Santa party, one where the kids could sit and take pictures with Santa and chat with him for however long they liked.

My husband wanted to go, but our daughter did not cooperate with a nap, thus ensuring that venturing out of the house at the specified time of the evening would result in a spectacular tantrum of epic proportions. Besides, I told my husband, why go through all the trouble when our son is a non-believer?

That’s right, my eight year old does not believe in Santa Claus, and actually hasn’t since kindergarten.

You see, I blame his aunt.

Auntie always has an Easter egg hunt at her house, and one day a few years back he was in her garage and recognized the eggs. He then asked my husband and me if there really was an Easter Bunny, seeing as how he found it odd the Easter Bunny would use Auntie’s garage for a storage facility.

I have always maintained that I will NOT lie to my children, especially when asked a question point-blank. I did caution my son about the answer, asking him if he really wanted to know, and once he knew, there was no un-knowing. If you know what I mean.

He said he wanted the truth.

So I told him the truth. No Easter Bunny. From there, it wasn’t hard for him to extrapolate every other holiday figure as being imaginary as well, right down to the Tooth Fairy.

And you know what? I don’t regret what I did one bit.

My husband still thinks I shouldn’t have done it, and my neighbor across the street claims that her eleven year old still believes in Santa, and that she will never tell him otherwise.

But my son is an analyst, a deductive thinker who was already headed down the path of jadedness long before I ever intervened. This is the same son, who, when sent to a religious pre-school made this complaint, “Mom, all we ever do is pray! We pray at snack, we pray at chapel. An ambulance goes by, and what do we do? PRAY! Does God even have time to listen to all that praying? I would think he doesn’t care about us praying about our lunch.”

So really, it was only a matter of time before my budding atheist figured it out for himself.

And as for those parents who maintain that their fifth-grader still believes in Santa, I know it’s hard, but you need to let that go. Like, now.

16% of you say that taking children to Hooters Restaurant is not a big deal. Apparently boobs are just boobs. However, technically the majority is against, with 21% stating and unequivocal “no” and 45% stating a wishy-washy “no, but I can’t stop anybody else.” Be judgemental people, it’s the American way! As for me, I will never take a step with either my son or daughter into Hooters, which is a place that will teach them in no uncertain terms to objectify women, which is a lesson neither one of them should be learning.

Today I’m all about the holiday season and that annual favorite, the Santa photo. And yes, I’ve already featured a Santa photo on another post, but one can never quite get enough Santa photos, in my opinion.

Last week I wanted to know about your experiences with bullies, and I am sad to say that the highest vote-getting category was the one where you were bullied for a long, ugly period of time. A full 38% of you answered yes to this, and all I can say at this point is that I am so, so, sorry. Not surprisingly then, being bullied for a short amount of time was next, with 35% of the vote. Good grief, where were parents and school staff when you needed them? Although I have to say, I’m not sure it’s changed much. 5% of you admitted to being a bully, and I admire you for coming out and saying so. Personally, I was not bullied in school, aside from a few dorky boys making fun of my then-Italian last name here and there. I like to think it was because I had an athletic build, was tall, and was already lifting weights with my dad, so I looked like I could pretty much beat anybody up. Boys included.

It is the week of the American Thanksgiving, and thus the official time to start shopping those pre-holiday sales. Such as they are. And a belated Happy Thanksgiving to my Canadian friends!

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Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Mr. Manolo Blahnik. This website is not affiliated in any way with Mr. Manolo Blahnik, any products bearing the federally registered trademarks MANOLO®, BLAHNIK® or MANOLO BLAHNIK®, or any licensee of said federally registered trademarks. The views expressed on this website are solely those of the author.